


An Infinite Number of Parallel Worlds

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, many different settings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots exploring some of the many, many Rumbelle alternate universes I’ve dreamed up. There will be funfairs, there will be pirate ships, there will be haberdashers, and there will be much, much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carousel

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to see a particular universe expanded, or wants to throw me a prompt, I am all ears. Just drop a comment below. Enjoy the fics.

It was a year to the day. Exactly a year since they had kissed in the centre of the carousel and Gold had suggested, only half-joking, that she ran away with him. Exactly a year spent wondering what would have happened if she had done so. Belle ran a finger over her lips and remembered.

_“Come on, Belle! They’ve already started!”_

_Belle ran down the road after Ruby towards the field at the edge of the town, the usually empty expanse of muddy green already full of lorries and caravans. The fair only came to Storybrooke once a year. There were other travelling attractions that hired out the old field, but Belle, Ruby and Ashley were only ever interested in the fair; with its charming Victoriana splendour, it was like stepping into another world. And ever since they’d been old enough to run off without their parents, Belle and Ruby had been watching them set up the fair the day before it opened. Now adult, the excitement had not diminished, in fact, it seemed to have increased. Ashley didn’t like watching the setup – she said it spoiled the magic if she saw it all being bolted and welded together beforehand in a very twenty-first century way – but to Belle and Ruby it was fascinating. It was also a chance to catch up with Jefferson; once the fair began he’d be ‘in character’ and too busy working his ride to chat. The three had become friends a few years prior, and even though they only saw each other once a summer, Ruby and Belle could continue a conversation with Jefferson almost exactly where they left off twelve months previously._

_The reached the makeshift hoardings barring the public from the fairground until the lamps were lit and the gates thrown open at dusk. Belle leaned on the railings and sighed, just drinking in the atmosphere, the sense of anticipation. She understood what Ashley meant; the fair didn’t look as impressive whilst being hauled off lorries in pieces, the tarpaulins flapping in the air and the winches whining under the strain. But once the fair was open, lit up with imitation gas lamps, and the people wore their beautiful costumes, Belle forgot that less that twenty-four hours before, the Whirling Teacups had been in bits and its operator, now clad in top hat and brocade, had been wearing oily overalls._

_Said overall-wearing Whirling Teacups operator waved to them from where he was supervising his ride being unloaded at the centre of the field. Ruby and Belle waved back; Jefferson never changed. At length he came over to them._

_“Good morning, ladies,” he said, doffing an imaginary cap. “How fair thee today?”_

_“Very well, thank you, kind sir,” Belle replied, dropping into a vague impression of a curtsey. It was their ritualistic greeting, and had been since Jefferson had first come to Storybrooke with the fair._

_“So, Jeff…” Ruby began. She leaned up against the hoardings as much as she could to peer into the showground and take a good look round at the attractions that were filling the field this year. Although there were many mainstays that came every season – Jefferson being one of them – some of the entertainments came and went, only remaining with the fair for the lucrative summer months then moving on elsewhere._

_“…Is there anything new this year?” Jefferson finished her sentence for her. “As a matter of fact, there is. Something that our dear Belle will be most interested in.”_

_Jefferson gave a conspiratorial grin, and Belle’s brow furrowed._

_“What is it?” she asked._

_“Hmmm.” Jefferson studied his grimy fingernails with complete disinterest. “Maybe I’ll make you wait until this evening for the grand unveiling,” he said._

_“Jeff!” Belle and Ruby exclaimed in unison. “That’s not fair!”_

_“Ironic, since we’re in a fairground, no?” Jefferson cast a glance over his shoulder at the bustling field. “Come on, I’ll show you. Hop over.”_

_Ruby looked up at the seven-foot high hoarding, then down at her tight mini-skirt, and raised an eyebrow. Jefferson rolled his eyes._

_"Surely, surely you’ve learned to wear suitable attire for climbing when you come to watch the setup.” He gave melodramatic sigh. “There’s a gap in the fence about ten yards thataway. See if you can squeeze through it and I’ll see you there.”_

_Belle and Ruby found the gap with ease – they wondered if Jefferson had left it there for them on purpose when setting up the hoardings – and they slipped through it. Their friend was waiting for them on the other side._

_“Come on,” he said, beckoning for them to follow him, keeping to the edge of the showground and hiding behind the caravans. “You’ll love it, I swear.”_

_They came to a stop on the other side of the field, where a ride that had been obscured by a lorry was almost set up. Belle’s breath caught in her throat. It was a carousel, the most beautiful she’d seen in a long time, possibly ever. Whilst she loved everything about the fair, she had always felt a sense of disappointment that they had no carousel, the most quintessential part of any fairground in Belle’s eyes. Now, it seemed, they had rectified this omission, and it was wonderful, in brightly painted wood and brilliant gold metal, with what looked to be real leather saddles on the horses._

_A man was standing at the centre of the carousel with his back to them, tinkering with the old fashioned controls, and he made no indication of having noticed their approach._

_“Hey, Gold,” Jefferson called. “You all ready?”_

_“Hmmm.” The reply was non-committal, and Gold made no more sound for a long time before finally speaking. “Nearly. She still needs her music box syncing and a good polish, but she’s almost there. How’s your tea set?”_

_His voice was warm, the Scottish brogue wrapping Belle up like a hug. She’d always had a weakness for accents._

_“Still stuck on the lorry,” Jefferson said cheerfully. “The winch broke, so Graham tried to drag it off with his four-by-four, but all that did was break his tow-bar. Emma’s gone to find a wrench to hit the winch with.”_

_Gold sighed and, without a word, held out a wrench from his tool-bag, which was sitting on the back of the horse next to him._

_“Thanks, I knew you’d have one. Damn.” Jefferson sighed. “This means I have to go and do some actual work now. But before I go, is there any chance of a test run for a special guest of mine?”_

_“Jeff!” Belle hissed. Whilst Jefferson often sneaked them into the field during setup, they had always stayed hidden in the shadows, watching from afar and keeping out of sight of the fair owner, who was quick to pounce on trespassers._

_“Well.”_

_The man called Gold finally turned and surveyed the two gatecrashers, leaning casually against one of the horses whilst he wiped his oily hands on a rag…_

That moment had imprinted itself on Belle’s brain, and she could remember her first impression of him as clear as day even now, twelve months later. Dark hair fading to grey that fell to the collar of his overalls, the beginnings of grey stubble forming over his chin, and chocolate brown eyes that Belle had been immediately lost in. He had cast an appraising eye over both her and Ruby, knowing immediately that they were both outsiders, and despite Ruby’s tight leather miniskirt, his deep, dark eyes had lingered on Belle, and a faintest trace of a smile had twitched at the corner of his mouth.

_“That does depend,” Gold said. He didn’t take his eyes from Belle. “It’ll cost you, dearie. All favours come at a price.”_

_Belle wondered how he knew she was the one who wanted a free ride. Then again, Ruby’s skirt wasn’t exactly suited to horseriding._

_“What do you want?” Belle asked. “I’ve got two-sixty in change.”_

_“Oh I don’t want your pennies, dearie.” He smiled, half leer, and half genuine, schoolboy grin. “I’ll pick up enough of those this evening.”_

_“Erm… half a Mars bar?” Belle offered feebly. She didn’t have anything else with her. It wasn’t the end of the world, after all. She’d still be able to ride the carousel later, when it would be lit and even more impressive. But the novelty of being the first to test it out was thrumming in her veins. Gold raised an eyebrow._

_“No thank you. How about, you owe me a favour, and I’ll collect at a time to suit me?”_

_Belle considered it for a moment, then stepped up onto the carousel and stuck out her hand._

_“Deal.”_

_Gold looked down at her hand and waved his grimy ones._

_“I won’t shake on it. Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect little paws.”_

_Boldly, because this man intrigued her and caused something to flutter in the pit of her stomach, Belle grabbed his rag and scrunched it up between her fingers._

_“There,” she said. “I’m as grubby as you, now.”_

_Gold laughed and shook her hand._

_“Deal,” he said, then gestured to the nearest horse with a grand flourish. “Climb aboard, dear lady, for your noble steed awaits. Pick whichever takes your fancy. No, hang on.” He gave her a studious look, head on one side. “What’s your name?”_

_“Belle. Belle French.”_

_“Aha. In that case…” He moved off, making his way round the carousel. Belle noticed how he limped, using the horses for support as he moved. “Here. A fitting choice, I think.”_

_A pink horse, with gold detailing. In curlicued letters down its neck was written the name ‘Beauty’. Belle swung her leg over its back and settled herself on the saddle, clutching the pole in front of her. Gold had already disappeared off back to the centre of the carousel and the controls, and with a mechanical grinding, the ride whirred into life, gradually picking up speed until she was flying. She gave a little wave every time she passed Ruby, Jefferson and Gold, feeling like she was seven years old again and riding a carousel for the first time._

_Gradually she slowed once more, and Gold was there, holding out a hand to help her off the horse._

_“Obviously she’ll be more impressive with her lights and her music…” he began, but Belle cut him off._

_“It was great,” she said. “I look forward to seeing her in all her glory.”_

_Gold bowed his head and released her hand. Belle hadn’t realised that they’d still been holding on, and she missed the calloused warmth._

_“I look forward to seeing you again, Miss French.”_

_“Uh oh.” Jefferson’s voice cut through the moment. “I spy trouble in the form of the dragon. We’d best beat a hasty retreat.”_

_Reluctantly, Belle was forced to leave the carousel and its owner behind, and run with Ruby to the boundary before the fairground owner could catch them._

_“Well,” Ruby said between pants to get her breath back. “You’ve got yourself an admirer there.”_

_Belle just raised an eyebrow._

_“Ruby, you can’t honestly think…”_

_“Belle, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. And you’re not exactly uninterested either.”_

_Belle rolled her eyes, wishing she could do something about the flush that was rising in her cheeks. Hopefully her friend would put it down to their sudden sprint across the field…_

She hadn’t. Ruby was annoyingly observant like that, always had been. She had teased Belle mercilessly all the way home. Belle sighed. She hadn’t believed in love at first sight until she’d met Gold, and even then, she’d denied it, fiercely squashing the emotion and attempting, however unsuccessfully, to put it in a box and sit on it until she forgot about it totally.

It had definitely not worked. The carousel and its owner had stayed on her mind all year. She knew from the moment she had first seen the ride in the twilight, lit up and shining, with music pouring out of hidden speakers, that it would remain with her for a long time. And then there had been Gold, clean-shaven in silk cravat and velvet frock coat, welcoming people aboard his carousel with that gentle theatricality and beguiling brogue, playing the part of the showman so easily.

She had known that she would not forget him in a hurry.

_“Ah, Miss French. May I say how lovely you look this evening?”_

_He had spotted her immediately within the crowd of people gathered around the carousel and come over to her whilst the latest batch of riders busied themselves with picking their horses._

_“Thank you, Mr Gold. You’re looking quite dapper yourself.” She paused. “Is Gold your first or last name?”_

_He laughed._

_“Last. First half’s Raymond, but don’t tell anyone.” He paused. “Friends call me Rum.”_

_Belle gave a cheeky smile._

_“Do I count as a friend?”_

_“I’d say so, Miss French. You were the first to test out the old girl after all.” His smile matched her own. “I’ve decided on my favour.”_

_“And what might that be, then?” Belle challenged._

_“Not yet, Belle, not yet. Come back at midnight, then we’ll see.” He looked back at the carousel. “In the meantime… There’s still a pony left, if you want?”_

_“What will this one cost me?”_

_“On the house. Come on.”_

_He handed her over the low, twisted velvet rope that kept the spectators back from the edge of the ride and pulled her over towards it, a positive spring in his step in spite of the limp. Belle wanted to ask how he came by it, but she desisted. It wasn’t the sort of thing one asked after only knowing a person five minutes, even if that person did count you as a friend._

_This horse was glossy ivory, decorated with silver and red curlicues, the name in fancy cursive reading ‘Snow White’. Belle sat side-saddle so as not to make her full skirt ride up, and let herself be carried away with the lights and the music and the motion, and watch out for Rum’s little smile as he caught her eye every time she whirled round him…_

She’d returned to the ride at midnight, as promised, the rest of the fair closing down and going to bed around them. The carousel was still running, shining brightly in the night although there were no people riding it now, and the music had been switched off. Gold had been waiting for her in the centre, leaning on the pedestal.

_“So…” Belle called to him. “Name your price.”_

_Rum merely grinned and slowed the carousel to half-speed, allowing her to clamber up onto it and cross the moving platform to get to him, stationary at the centre._

_“A kiss,” he said. “One test ride, one kiss.”_

_Belle’s heart fluttered in her mouth._

_“Knock yourself out,” she managed._

_He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek briefly before drawing back._

_Belle raised an eyebrow at him._

_“You call that a kiss?” she breathed._

_“What do you call a kiss, then?”_

_She decided to throw caution to the wind. After all, if it all went wrong, she never had to see him again. Belle grabbed the front of his waistcoat – he’d abandoned the cravat somewhere – and pulled him in against her, pressing her lips to his. He stiffened a little in surprise, but then relaxed into the kiss, wrapping one arm around her and tangling his fingers in her hair._

_Belle sighed against his mouth as she finally let him up for air._

_“_ That’s _what I call a kiss.”_

Belle had returned to the carousel at midnight every night of the week the fair was in town, and she and Rum had learned practically everything there was to know about each other over those five days, talking till the small hours interspersed with kisses. But then the final night had come, and Belle knew it was to be their last. It was then that he had offered, half-serious, that she could come away with him, travel along with the fair. He’d show her how to work the carousel, how to maintain the machinery that was his livelihood, how to get along with the rest of the fair. Perhaps she could even carve her own niche, her own sideshow.

But Belle still had a year of university. She still had all her family and friends in Storybrooke. She still had her part time job. She couldn’t just drop everything and run off with a funfair, even if she was in love with the carousel man. She had tried to tell herself that it was just a summer crush, an infatuation.

It didn't stop her wanting to cry when she told him no.

_“Never mind,” Rum said, although she could see that he was as disappointed as she was. “There’s always next year. I’ll need someone to test the old girl before I start hawking, after all.”_

_Belle looked up at the carousel, winding down in the moonlight._

_“Don’t suppose there’s time for one last ride?” she asked sadly._

_Rum smiled._

_“There’s always time for one last ride,” he replied. “Hop on.”_

_She picked out Beauty, the horse that had come to be her favourite, and settled herself on her saddle. Rum cranked the speed up and watched her go round for a little while before he reached out and grabbed a hold of the pole as she whirled past him, pulling himself up alongside her to capture her lips in a final, desperate kiss..._

That was the last time she’d seen him. They’d said their goodbyes on the moving carousel, and then he’d stepped over onto the centre to stop the ride, and vanished into the night.

Jefferson had walked her home as he did every night after the fair. It was no secret, what she had been doing when she stayed so late, but Jefferson had never brought it up in conversation, and neither had Belle. She’d forced herself to remain cheerful on the way home, not to betray that there was anything wrong. It was only once she was safely tucked up in bed that she had begun to cry at the thought of the path not taken.

But the pain had healed, in its way. It always would. She’d gone back to her friends at university, kept busy, kept all thoughts of the fair to the back of her mind as best she could.

Now though…

Now the fair was back in town, and everything was different to last time. University was done, she’d graduated and was stuck in a boring job that she hated. Her friends in Storybrooke were no longer the same tightly knit group they had been – Ruby had moved in with Archie, the boyfriend she’d met on her Psychology and Animal Behaviour degree, and Ashley and Sean were pregnant, for crying out loud. And Belle, well, Belle was still the same. Still stuck. Still here.

Still hopelessly in love with Rum Gold.

She hadn’t watched the setup this year. She hadn’t even been to the fair, and it was the last night. She hadn’t wanted to see him, see how he, like everyone else, had moved on with his life whilst she had been unable to go forward with hers. Especially as that had been the reason for her saying no.

Ruby kept relaying messages from Jefferson, who missed her something chronic. But still, Belle had held her ground.

Until tonight.

There was nothing keeping her in Storybrooke anymore. She’d moved out of the family home months ago, wanting to be independent. Her job, well, she was better off without it, if the levels of stress were anything to go by. And her friends, well, they would understand. Nothing holding her back, except her own fear of the unknown.

Belle looked at the small bag she had packed. She could always come back for more later if she wanted it. She could get Ruby to pack up her books and courier them to her. And Jefferson and her other friends from the fair would be there as well; she wouldn’t be alone in a crowd of strangers.

Do the brave thing, she told herself. Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow…

It was already nearly midnight when she reached the fairground, and many of the rides had powered down for the night, ready to be disassembled in the morning. Belle made her way over to the far corner and the lights of the carousel, still slowly turning in the darkness.

Rum was sitting on the steps in his red frock coat, polishing a bit of machinery from the control panel. He didn’t look up as she approached, her shoes squeaking on the damp grass.

“I’m sorry, you’re too late,” he said, and Belle felt the wondrous warmth of his brogue envelope her again. “The carousel’s closed.”

“There’s always time for one last ride.”

Rum’s head shot up to look at her, and his face was a picture of disbelieving astonishment.

“You told me that yourself,” Belle added.

He stood and limped over to her.

“Belle…” he breathed, reaching out to tentatively touch her shoulder, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“Hi,” she said sheepishly. “I’m back.”

“So I see. And you appear to have brought baggage,” he murmured, looking down at her holdall.

“Yeah, I, erm…” Belle was beginning to regret her spur of the moment decision. What if his offer no longer stood? What if he longer wanted her with him on the road, travelling with the fair? “I was wondering if I could hitch a lift.”

Rum smiled.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Where are you going?”

“Prospect Park, after here. Then on to the Heritage Fair.”

“I think I’ll go there too, then.” She paused. “I’m ready now,” she said. “I wasn’t ready before, but I am now. So if your offer’s still open…”

“It’s always been open, Belle. From the moment you said no, I’ve kept hoping you’d change your mind.”

“In that case, I’d very much like to run away and join the fair with you.”

Rum answered her with a kiss.

“Welcome to the carousel, Belle French.”

 

 


	2. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to the school where your father is a teacher is bad enough. When your father’s the most feared teacher in said school, it’s even worse. And when said father starts flirting with said school’s new librarian, well, that doesn’t even bear thinking about. It’s going to be a long year for Bae Gold…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints of Rumbelle and Bae/Moraine pre-romance told through Bae’s eyes.

The first day of term began in the same way that every other first day of term had begun ever since Bae had started at Storybrooke Secondary school two years prior. That is to say, it began with his father knocking on his bedroom door and telling him it was time to get up, and Bae rolling over, planting his face in his pillow and ignoring this wake-up call.

It was not that Bae didn’t like school. He generally enjoyed learning (except maths and chemistry) and he had plenty of friends. The only trouble was…

The rap of knuckles on wood came again, slightly louder this time.

“Bae, it’s quarter past seven, it’s time to get up.”

…The only trouble was currently telling him to get up. No self-respecting thirteen-year-old liked to go to a school where one of their parents (in Bae’s case, his _only_ parent) taught. Especially not when said parent was head of the history department. _Especially_ not when said head of history department was the most feared teacher in the school, including the witch of a headmistress, Ms Mills.

Which was why Bae did not want to get up on his first day of his third year.

“All right, all right, I’m up,” he moaned, the sentence muffled in his blankets, and he proceeded to shove his head under the pillow. Bae supposed he should count himself lucky. In his two years at Storybrooke Secondary, he had never actually had the misfortune to be taught by his father. But all that could change this year. He could get given his timetable and see that for four hours a week, he was going to have to call his dad Mr Gold and listen to him spouting on about the Russian Revolution and trench warfare. Bae was not quite sure why he had to even learn history when he knew the entire five years’ syllabus backwards.

Bae jumped out of his skin as the loud thwack of a metal cane handle hitting his doorframe reverberated through the room. He should really be used to it by now – if he hadn’t surfaced after two tries, his father, the impatient fool, took to a slightly more drastic measure – but it still managed to shock him.

“Bae!” The door opened. “It’s time to get up, how many times am I going to have to tell you?”

Reluctantly, Bae moved the pillow and glared at his father, who was standing in his bedroom doorway looking, in equal parts, both exasperated and amused.

“You must have your class lists,” was Bae’s reply to being told to get up. They’d had this argument the previous two years, and Bae never won. His father always steadfastly refused to tell him if they were destined to be spending any more than the barest minimum of time together within the school premises.

“I do. But I’m not telling you whether you’re in any of them or not, and I am not moving from this doorway until I see that you are actually out of bed.”

“Well…” Bae decided to try a different tack. “Well, am I in one of Mr Nolan’s classes then?” he asked. Bae liked Mr Nolan. He’d had him for history last year and it had been great fun. Especially when they’d made so much noise during their civil war re-enactment that his dad had yelled through the wall from the adjoining classroom to get them to keep it down, and the two teachers had ended up having an entire conversation through the plasterboard.

“I don’t know, Bae,” his father replied levelly. “I don’t have Mr Nolan’s class lists. But you, on the other hand, have ten seconds to get out of bed before I drag you out.” He shifted his weight to lean in the doorway and lifted his cane, reaching out with the handle end. “I can nearly reach from here, even.”

Grumbling under his breath, Bae swung his legs out of bed and finally looked up at his father, who gave a satisfied smile and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Bae groaned. He was half-tempted to just get back into bed, but he didn’t. That wouldn’t go down too well. Everyone in the school knew that Mr Gold had a temper to rival the best of them, and Bae knew it more than most. Although his father had infinitely more patience with his son than with other pupils, Bae knew exactly how far he could push, and he never overstepped that line.

He got out of bed and padded across the room to open the door again, calling down the stairs after his dad.

“What about Miss Mallory?” Miss Mallory wouldn’t be so bad. He’d had her in the first year, and although she wasn’t quite as fun as Mr Nolan and could be a bit of a dragon at times, she was still better than being taught by his dad.

“You’d have to ask her,” came the infuriating reply. Bae had to admit defeat, and began to get dressed. Honestly, would it really be so hard for his father to give him a simple yes or no to the equally simple question ‘are you teaching me history this year?’ Maybe he could work out a different tactic… Bae shook his head; it wasn’t worth it, not when he’d be finding out for himself in less than two hours. Perhaps, if the worst came to the worst, he could ask Miss Lucas to negotiate something with the fairies in the timetabling office. Not actual fairies, of course, but the administration staff were so rarely seen that they had earned themselves a reputation as various creatures of lore and legend.

By the time he got downstairs, he found his dad calmly eating toast and reading the paper, and Bae decided to give it one last shot.

“Are you teaching any of my friends?” he asked. He and Moraine had shared most of their classes throughout their two years at the school, and if his dad was teaching Moraine, it was more than likely he was teaching Bae as well.

His father looked at him over the top of the paper.

“I’ve got Ryan Evans. For the third year running, I might add. I’m beginning to think that the timetabling fairies are enacting some kind of revenge for crimes I committed in a past life.”

“Ryan’s not exactly a friend,” Bae said. “He’s someone who happens to be in my form group.” He shrugged. “He just doesn’t like history, that’s all.”

The look he received in return to this statement was one of perplexed incredulity.

“How can anyone not like history?”

Bae rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the fridge. It was useless to argue. His father was a typical teacher in that respect, always convinced that his subject was better than all the rest. Unfortunately, Bae did actually quite like history himself, despite having grown up surrounded by it, but he would of course never admit this, and would always maintain, if pressed, that his favourite subject was English. That wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination, as most students who had been taught by Miss Blanchard at one point during their education at Storybrooke Secondary would claim English to be their favourite subject.

Still. Just because he liked history didn’t mean that he would be in any way, shape or form happy being taught by his dad.

He pulled the bread out of the fridge and extracted two slices from the pack, only to find a rather impressive crust of green fluff growing around the edges.

“Dad, there’s no bread,” he said, throwing the pack into the bin.

Dad looked down at the half-eaten piece of toast in his hand and then at Bae, and raised an eyebrow.

Bae sighed.

“Yeah, but that’s _your_ bread.”

“What’s wrong with my bread?”

“It’s got bits in!”

“They’re grains, Bae. They’re good for you.”

“They taste of dust,” Bae muttered, fetching the milk and pouring himself a large bowl of Coco Pops, making it absolutely clear to his father that he was not going to be bamboozled into eating anything that could be considered remotely healthy. Not that it made much difference; his dad had gone back to his paper and wasn’t paying his son’s breakfast the blindest bit of attention.

“What about Moraine?” Bae asked presently. “Are you teaching her? Or Ava Zimmer?”

“Can’t remember,” was the non-committal reply, and Bae decided to give in with good grace. He’d know soon enough. It would just be nice to have some prior warning. He turned his thoughts towards the rest of his subjects as he ate his cereal. It would be good to have Miss Blanchard for English again, but if she taught everyone who wanted to have her as their English teacher, she’d be teaching the entire school and the rest of the English department would be out of a job.

His form teacher, Miss Lucas, taught biology, which had the unfortunate side effect of meaning his form room was a science laboratory. This meant it was cursed with always smelling of gas and cabbage, and several people were convinced that the room was in fact radioactive from physics experiments of days gone by. On the upside, Miss Lucas had decorated her lab with pictures of wolves and there were several preserved skeletons in the cupboard that were excellent for scaring the girls with. Bae liked Miss Lucas, she wore red streaks in her hair and let them watch horror films on the last day of term.

“Bae!”

It took a little while for Bae to realise that he was being spoken to. His father was standing in the kitchen doorway holding his car keys.

“I’m leaving now. If you want a lift you’ve got five minutes to brush your teeth.”

Bae shook his head. Not only would he arrive at school hopelessly early, because there was a full staff meeting before the actual school day began that his father had to attend, he wanted to share the bus ride with his friends one final time before, quite possibly, his life ended at eight forty-five when he was given his timetable.

“Well, I’ll see you later then. Have a good first day.”

Bae narrowed his eyes after his dad’s retreating back. Did ‘see you later’ mean ‘see you after school’, or ‘see you this afternoon in ‘introduction to twentieth century history’? Honestly, semantics were such a pest. With the house to himself for all of twenty minutes before he had to leave to catch the bus, Bae took full advantage of the fact and turned the radio up to full volume, but turned it off again when it turned out to be tuned into the classical station and his eardrums were assaulted with a blast of Wagner at about one hundred decibels. Bae took it as an omen. No toast, a broken radio, and he was well on the way to saying ‘this morning can’t get any worse’ and being made to eat his words later.

The morning always had the potential to get worse…

Bae brushed his teeth with grim determination. Was it too late to suddenly catch some life-threatening tropical disease and be unable to come into school for three weeks? Well, yes, since his summer holidays had been spent in Cornwall rather than anywhere remotely exotic requiring vaccinations, and besides, that would only delay the inevitable.

Moreover, his father would stand testament to the fact that he had been perfectly fine ten minutes prior to his being struck down with some dread illness.

Oh well. Best bite the bullet and get it over with. Bae left the house, locked up and ran down the road to meet Ava and Nicholas at the bus stop. When he arrived, he saw that the twins were not alone. There were two extremely small looking first years waiting with them.

“I swear they get smaller every year,” Ava muttered as Bae came up to them. “We were never that small, were we?”

“It was two years ago, Ava.”

“I know, but I’m certain we were never that short. Anyway, how were your holidays, Bae? Looking forward to going back to school?”

Ava’s tone made it quite clear that she wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest. Bae merely gave a groan in response.

“You’ve escaped two years,” Nicholas said brightly. “There’s nothing to say you won’t be lucky again this year.”

“The law of probability says this’ll be the year,” Bae said unenthusiastically. “There are only three history teachers and I’ve already had two of them.”

“I have to say, I feel more sorry for the firsties, personally,” Ava said airily. “Just think, having your dad as the first teacher you’re introduced to at ‘big school’.”

Bae had to concede it, at least he wasn’t in that terrifying position. His dad’s previous form had left the previous summer, so he’d be getting a new class of first years to mentor through their five years at the school.  Bae couldn’t think of a worse teacher to have as a form teacher and the first point of authority one came into contact with, apart from perhaps Ms Mills.

No, scratch that, his father was worse by far.

The arrival of the bus did nothing to brighten Bae’s mood, although he was looking forward to Miss Lucas telling them all about her holiday tracking wolves in Canada. Apparently Dr Hopper, the school counsellor, had gone with her. They’d have to find out if it was true. Moraine would probably know. She knew everything. Bae, Ava and Nicholas crowded onto the back seat and Bae tried to concentrate on the twins’ summer escapades rather than the gnawing fear that was growing. Surely he could plead with the timetabling fairies if the worst came to the worst?

“Ava,” he began, but his friend shook her head.

“No,” she said firmly. “I told you last year and I’m telling you again. I am not swapping classes with you if I get Mr Nolan and you get your dad.”

Bae spent the rest of the bus journey trying to convince her to change her mind.

By the time they arrived at the school, there were already lots of pupils hanging around in the grounds or making their way to their form rooms. Bae and Nicholas waved goodbye to Ava, whose form room was on the other side of the school, and continued towards Miss Lucas’s lab. To do so, they had to pass the assembly hall, where all the first years were being shepherded to find their form mates and meet their teachers.

“Come on!” Nicholas pulled Bae over to the hall windows. “We need to check out the new teachers and scare the firsties! It’s tradition!”

Bae followed his friend, who had already started making faces through the window. Bae peered into the room, drawing back sharply when he realised his dad was only standing about twenty feet away, engaged in conversation with a blonde woman Bae had never seen before. The new teachers always started out with a form of first years, so that they could all be new together, as opposed to trying to take on a class of older kids; their first class was almost always guaranteed to be well-behaved and in awe. Miss Lucas had been new the year Bae joined, too. He looked around the room, picking out a couple more teachers he didn’t recognise.

Presently, Nicholas’s gurning, which was holding several first years mesmerised, garnered some rather unwanted attention from the admin staff who were organising everything, and the two boys beat a hasty retreat before they were caught and given detention before the term had even begun. His dad would not take kindly to that and the ensuing lecture would probably be worse than an entire year of lessons with him.

No, Bae reminded himself. Nothing could be worse than that.

He and Nicholas ran into the lab just as the bell rang, and Bae slid into his seat beside Moraine still panting.

“Hi Bae,” Moraine said brightly. “Did you have a good summer? Go anywhere nice?”

“Erm…” Bae’s voice deserted him slightly as he got a good look at his friend. Moraine seemed to have… _blossomed_ over the summer, as his dad would put it. “Cornwall,” he finally, after a few minutes of opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “You?”

Moraine didn’t get the chance to reply, as Miss Lucas walked in at that moment, with a pile of timetables under one arm and a plush wolf under the other.

“Morning, 9B,” she said as she juggled the paperwork, finally dumping the timetables on the front desk in favour of finding some twine to tie the wolf to the top of the overhead projector with.

“Good morning, Miss Lucas,” her pupils chorused back.

“Well, I hope you’re all rested and ready to work extremely hard in biology, even if you don’t feel like doing maths just yet. As you can see, we have a new form mascot.” She gestured to the wolf. “Today’s most important task, more important even than distributing your timetables, is to give him a name. I’ve narrowed it down to Lorenzo, Nathaniel or Aloysius. You just think about it for a while. Anyway, who’s here?”

The register didn’t take long enough, and too soon, Miss Lucas was passing round timetables. She gave a small, apologetic smile as she handed Bae his, and Bae took this to mean ‘I feel for you, kid. Try to survive history this year.’

He looked down. He had Miss Blanchard for English and Miss Lucas herself for biology. And…

Bae groaned and rested his head on his desk. There in black and white, on Monday afternoons and Thursday mornings.

_History. Room S15. Mr R Gold._

“It’ll be all right, Bae,” Moraine said, patting his shoulder. “You’re in the same class as me. I won’t let your dad pick on you.”

“Chin up, Bae,” Miss Lucas added as she passed him on her way back to the front of the class. “You can get all the test answers in advance now.”

“Huh,” said Bae to the desk. “Some chance of that happening.” He paused, still not removing his forehead from the lab bench. “I vote Aloysius for the wolf.”

“One vote for Aloysius. Bae, get your head off the desk, I happen to know for a fact that Dr Whale was using this lab for some very strange experiments during the summer and I dread to think what kind of chemicals got spilt on the benches.”

“Is it true that Dr Whale tried to ask a nun out on a date?” asked someone from the back of the class.

“I have no idea, but I wouldn’t put it past him,” Miss Lucas said breezily. “Bae! Head! Desk! Off! Now!”

Reluctantly, Bae lifted his head off the desk and continued to listen to everyone’s tales of what they did over the holidays. There wasn’t much to do until assembly really, so Miss Lucas just let them talk amongst themselves and vote on wolf names. (Aloysius won by a large margin.)

The bell rang again and the biology teacher began to herd her class out of the lab and down the corridors towards the assembly hall. It was just about big enough to squeeze everyone in the school in, although it was a tight fit, so there was only ever an assembly wherein all five years were gathered twice a year – at the beginning and the end. Ms Mills was standing on the stage at the far end of the room, smiling what appeared to be benevolently, which was a wholly unusual expression on her. Bae guessed that she wanted to lull the first years into a false sense of security before she started scaring them all witless.

He saw his dad near the front of the room with his first years, and Bae wondered how many of them had been traumatised for life in the hour that they had been at the school. He wondered how traumatised he was going to be when one o’clock and the first history lesson of the year came around.

Ms Mills droned on for a while about welcoming the new students and hoping that the older ones would be good examples of the school’s values. Bae wasn’t really listening. She had given the same speech the past two years, and it was soporific enough the first time he heard it. He was more concerned with identifying the new faces amongst the staff.

“We have three new staff members joining us this year,” Ms Mills said. “Miss Swan joins the IT department.” The blonde who’d been talking to his dad earlier waved. “Mr Booth joins the English department.” A dark-haired man waved from the other side of the room. “And Miss French has taken over from Mrs Ginger in the library.”A chestnut-haired woman sitting next to Miss Blanchard waved, and Ms Mills continued her usual speech.

Bae watched Miss French. She was smiling, one of those secret little smiles that adults have when they’re party to something that no-one else is. Presently she blushed and hastily looked out of the window. Bae frowned. Was she _flirting_ with someone? He glanced across at the teachers on the other side of the room, and his blood ran cold.

Miss French was sitting directly opposite his dad.

It could just be a coincidence, he said quickly. Maybe it’s nothing. It’s nothing, of course it’s nothing.

“Bae?” Moraine hissed under her breath. “Bae, are you ok? You’ve gone grey and you sound like you’re groaning. Do you need to go and see the nurse?”

Bae couldn’t reply as he continued to watch the looks being exchanged across the assembly hall. No, sadly it was undeniable. They were flirting. In broad daylight. At school. In the middle of assembly. Right under Ms Mills’ nose. This couldn’t be right, surely. His dad hadn’t had a girlfriend since his mum died, and that was years ago. For heaven’s sake, he was nearly fifty and he was too old to be flirting with librarians! It couldn’t be happening. As if his life hadn’t already just ended. Bae rested his head in his hands.

It was going to be a very, very long year…


	3. Confectionary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and the Chocolate Factory AU. Mr Gold gets more than he bargained for when he sends out golden tickets to invite five children – and prospective heirs – into his chocolate factory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumbelle and past Swanfire. Credit for Emma’s pyjamas goes to my brother.

It had been a quiet day at the library and the sound of Henry’s voice shouting through the doors, obviously in a state of great excitement, was not unpleasant to Belle’s ears.

“Belle! Belle! Have you heard the news? Have you seen the news?”

Henry’s body soon followed his voice into the library, running at what appeared to be mach three.

“What news, Henry?” Belle asked, putting down her book and trying to catch a glimpse of the headline on the newspaper that the boy was waving above his head.

Belle and Henry had become close friends the year before, when Henry and his mother, Emma, had moved into the apartment below Belle’s. Emma worked long hours, often on evenings and weekends, to try and make ends meet, and Belle had offered to babysit on more than one occasion. They had bonded immediately over a mutual love of books and…

“This news!” Henry put the paper down on the issue desk, and Belle stared at the headline.

 _Gold to open factory gates at last_.

…chocolate. A mutual love of books and chocolate.

The Gold Chocolate Factory stood on the edge of the town, run by Mr Gold, a recluse whom everyone was of the considered opinion was crazy. As far as anyone could tell, he ran the entire place alone and had done since it first opened, and no-one had ever seen inside the huge building.

However crazy they thought him, Gold was regarded unanimously amongst chocolatiers as the finest confectioner of his generation, although no-one was quite sure to which generation he belonged, as no-one had seen the man in about ten years. Belle picked up the paper and scanned the article. Five golden tickets had been hidden under the wrappers of Gold’s chocolate bars, and the five lucky people to find these tickets would win a tour of the factory, conducted by Gold himself. No explanation was given as to why he had suddenly decided to open his doors to the public after so long isolating himself from the world. Belle checked the dates. It wasn’t a particular anniversary of the factory’s opening this year. It was completely out of the blue – and completely in-keeping with an eccentric millionaire.

“Wouldn’t it be brilliant?” Henry was in chocolate raptures. “We could see inside the factory, see how the chocolate’s made, and get a lifetime’s supply at the end of it.” Henry paused. “Do you think Mr Gold would teach me how to make chocolate fudge?” he mused.

Belle laughed.

“Confectioners are notoriously protective of their recipes, Henry,” she said. “Some of the best Belgian chocolatiers keep their secrets under lock and key and only hand them down through families. Some recipes are so precious they’ve never been written down. If someone forgets the recipe, it’s lost.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Henry asked in awe. Belle pointed toward the reference section of the library.

“There’s an excellent book called ‘A History of Chocolate’ in there,” she said. “Second section, third shelf up on the left.”

Henry happily took off in the direction of the chocolate book and Belle continued to peruse the front page article. She sighed. There could be no-one in the world who wanted or deserved that ticket more than Henry, but Emma could barely pay the rent, let alone buy up crates of Gold’s chocolate – quality came at a price, and Henry only ever got his favourite chocolate fudge on special occasions.

His chances were practically nil but who knew? Maybe he could strike gold.

X

The next day, as Belle was walking to work, she found every newsagent’s and corner shop besieged by eager chocolate buyers. The headlines screamed that the first golden ticket had already been found, but Belle didn’t fancy hanging around in the crowds long enough to buy the paper and read up on the details.

She let herself into the library, away from the noise and bustle of the melee, and tried to go about her daily tasks as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening outside the window. Still she found herself drawn to the periodicals room. Finally, when lunchtime had come and gone, she could resist temptation no longer. Hanging her little sign on the front desk telling people to ring for assistance, she slipped into the periodicals archive. The air in the room was dry and cold, to preserve the clippings better, and Belle gave an involuntary shiver. She took the big index off the wall and flicked through it until she found the entry she wanted.

_GOLD (confectionary). Cross reference with GOLD (Rum) and GOLD (Baden)._

Belle looked up the references and found the relevant archive box. The extracts were mounted on faded black card and she sat down at the table in the centre of the room to read.

_NEW CHOCOLATE FACTORY TO OPEN IN TOWN  
Rum Gold announces expansion from boutique chocolaterie…_

_CHOCOLATIER AND SON PART WAYS  
Rum Gold, the country’s most successful chocolatier, and his son Baden were seen arguing in a Mayfair restaurant, their third public confrontation in as many months…_

_HEIR TO CHOCOLATE EMPIRE DIES AGED TWENTY  
Baden Gold, son of confectioner Rum Gold, died last night after the car he was driving lost control on black ice…_

There were only a few more headlines after that. The factory had stopped production immediately after Bae’s death, and reopened about a year later, but no-one had seen the mysterious Mr Gold since his son’s funeral.

Belle clipped out the article from the previous day’s paper and glued it down onto a fresh piece of card before popping it back in the box with the others. She wondered how all the chocolate was made, if he really did run the show alone. Some people had theories that he used an army of orange-skinned dwarfs, others thought aliens, others still thought good, old-fashioned magic.

The bell on the front desk brought the librarian back to the present, and she hurried to greet her customer. She found Henry leaning his head on one hand on the counter, looking far older than his years.

“Hey, Henry,” Belle said brightly, but she knew that his mood would not easily be lightened. “Want to help me lick the envelopes for the overdue notices?”

Henry gave a nod and Belle opened the counter to let him through.

“Two tickets found,” he said glumly. “The kids who’ve found them look awful.” He looked up at Belle from his envelope. “Why can’t bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people, like in books?”

“Well, sadly, Henry, life isn’t always as straight-forward as a fairy-tale.”

“I know.” Henry sighed and then gave a laugh. “Nicholas and Ava Zimmer stole a box of Gold chocolate bars from the newsagent this morning; they were selling them in the playground. The teachers confiscated them though. I bet they’re just sitting around in the staffroom opening them. Do you think it counts if your golden ticket is stolen and confiscated?”

“I don’t know, Henry. I know what I do know though.”

Belle opened her purse and held out a couple of coins.

“I know I could murder a Gold hazelnut toffee crunch. And since I can’t leave the library, would you be so kind as to get me one? And one for yourself, of course, since you’re doing all the running around.”

Henry’s eyes lit up.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m positive, Henry,” Belle replied. “Best get your mum some Turkish delight, too.”

Henry took off out of the library as if he’d been fired from a gun, and was back in less than fifteen minutes. He and Belle sat down behind the desk and opened their bars. There was nothing between the paper and the chocolate, and they both burst out laughing. They had been caught by the Gold bug as well.

“Oh well,” Henry said, biting off the corner of his chocolate fudge tablet. “At least it tastes the same.”

Belle had to admire the boy’s stoicism.

X

It was almost midnight when Belle heard a knock on her kitchen window. She opened the blinds and found herself face to face with Emma. The blonde woman looked exhausted and worried in equal measure, standing outside on the fire escape in the spring moonlight.

“Hi Belle,” she said as Belle pushed up the sash. “Can I talk to you? I know it’s late, but your light was on, and if I don’t talk to someone soon I’m going to explode.”

“Of course, give me a minute.”

Belle hastened to find a pair of shoes and a blanket. When she rejoined Emma on the fire escape, the younger woman was sitting forlornly on the steps with her unopened bar of Turkish on her lap.

“Thanks for the candy,” she said as Belle wrapped the blanket round both of their shoulders.

“Don’t mention it. I know you’ve been working double shifts lately. I thought it would brighten your day.”

Emma turned the package over and over in her hands, looking at it from all angles. “I don’t usually buy Gold stuff. Just the chocolate fudge for Henry.”

“I know, it’s pricey. But I think we’ve all gone a little mad lately,” Belle admitted.

“It’s ok, it’s not that, it’s just…” Emma tailed off and opened her purse, taking out a dog-eared snapshot, one of a strip taken in a photo booth of Emma and a young man pulling faces at the camera.

Belle’s heart leapt to her mouth when she recognised the man from the clippings in the paper. It was Baden Gold.

“He told me his name was Neal Cassidy. He also told me that was a lie. He wanted to make his own way in the world, not to rely on his father’s name and protection. I thought he was stringing me along; never once believed that he was really the son of a millionaire. We were happy for a few months and then suddenly, he wasn’t there. It was only when I saw his picture in the obituaries that I knew what had happened and that he’d been telling the truth about his real name being famous.”

Belle took one of her friend’s hands.

“Baden is Henry’s father?” she asked tentatively.

Emma nodded.

“So, Henry is Rum Gold’s grandson.”

Another nod.

“Did you ever tell him?”

“Who? Henry or Gold?”

“Well, either. But I was meaning Gold.” Belle thought about the huge factory and its enormous revenue, and Emma and Henry squashed in their little one bedroom flat. Surely if the chocolatier knew that he had a family, he would not turn his back on them.

“No. Neither.” Emma gave a little snort of laughter. “No-one’s seen Gold since Bae died. Besides, it’s not exactly the sort of thing that you can just knock on someone’s front door and say: ‘Hi, I had a fling with your son, this is your grandson’.”

Belle nodded her understanding and the two women sat in silence for a while.  Suddenly, Emma ripped the wrapper off her Turkish delight and began to tear into it ravenously. Neither she nor Belle commented on the lack of gold between the rose-coloured jelly and the paper.

X

Deep in the heart of his factory, Mr Gold put down his morning paper and looked at the picture of his son that sat on his desk.

“Oh Bae…” He sighed. “I’m beginning to think that this was a really terrible idea.”

There was knock on the door.

“Come in, Dove.”

He knew it was Dove. There was never anyone else in the factory apart from Jefferson on the rare occasions that he dropped in to visit, and Jefferson had never been taught the lost art of knocking.

“Have you seen the papers, Mr Gold?” Dove asked. Gold nodded.

“Four tickets found, and not one of them looks like it’s fallen into the hands of a worthy recipient. But this is what you get when you try to be fair. Dove, do you think I’ve gone mad?”

“In my personal opinion, Mr Gold, you went mad a very long time ago.”

“Excellent, we’re both agreed on that score then.”

“You have a parcel from Mr Milliner.” Dove placed the large box that he was carrying onto the desk, and Gold read the attached note.

_Dear Rum. Still having some trouble sourcing snozzberry juice but I’m working on it. Good luck with the tickets. Personally I think you’re nuts but hey, it’s not my factory. Enclosed is a gift. It’s always brought me luck. Maybe it can do for you too. Regards, J.M._

Gold opened the box and took out Jefferson’s familiar top hat, trying it on for size. He could only hope.

X

Two weeks after their conversation on the fire escape, Emma took ill, developing a racking cough that Belle could hear coming up through the floorboards. Henry said, when he came upstairs to ask Belle if she could buy some paracetamol as they wouldn’t sell it to a child, that he thought she’d caught the cold he’d had from school a few days prior, but she continued going in to work and now she was just getting worse.

When Belle had brought the medicine round, she admitted that Emma did indeed look bad, but she was sure that a few days’ bed rest would get her back on her feet. A frantic Emma had explained that she simply couldn’t afford to take any time off work, but when it came down to it, she had been too ill to argue her case.

Two more golden tickets had been found, and the press’s voracity seemed to have died down a bit, until two days before the factory was due to open its doors, and the reporters were out in full force again, lining the streets despite the rain. One golden ticket still going spare. What if only four were found? What would Gold do then? It was all over the news; Belle had to switch off the little radio that kept her company when the library was empty; she was that sick of hearing about the four lucky finders and speculation about the fifth.

The next day, Belle was reading in the evening, when she heard Henry shout up the fire escape.

“Belle! Belle!”

She jumped off the sofa, fully expecting to hear that Emma had taken a turn for the worse and making ready to call an ambulance.

“Belle!”

But as the footsteps thundered up the rickety steps, Belle thought that Henry sounded more happy than worried, and more excited than happy.

“Belle! I’ve got it! Look!”

Belle opened the window just in time for Henry to careen into her apartment. In his hands he held a bar of Gold chocolate fudge, and under the torn wrapper, there was the unmistakable glint of yellow metal.

“Oh my goodness…” Belle sat down heavily on the nearest kitchen chair. “Oh my goodness, Henry…”

“It’s from the lot that Nicholas and Ava had confiscated,” he explained. “Miss Blanchard bought the box from the newsagents and gave us all a bar, but it was whilst I was off sick so she saved me the chocolate fudge because she knows it’s my favourite.” Here Henry paused for breath. “But she forgot to give it to me until today. So I opened it for Mum as I thought it might cheer her up, and just look!”

Belle just looked. It was, without a doubt, a golden ticket.

“Oh, Henry… Congratulations.”

“I’d probably better get back to Mum,” Henry said.

Belle came back down with him. Emma was sitting in bed, looking slightly shell-shocked.

“Crumbs,” she kept saying.

“I’ll be able to keep Belle in hazelnut toffee crunch for years!” Henry was enthusing as he pulled the ticket out of the chocolate and began to read.

_Congratulations to you, the lucky finder of this golden ticket…_

It did not give many details, just saying that the child should come to the factory the next day, bringing the ticket and a parent or guardian to look after them. At the end of the day, they would receive a lifetime’s supply of Gold’s confectionary.

“All that chocolate fudge,” Henry said dreamily.

Emma looked at Belle.

“Belle, it’s tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t think that anyone would appreciate me taking my flu into a chocolate factory. Do you think… Could you take Henry instead?”

Belle smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

X

It was five minutes to ten, and five minutes until the Gold factory gates would be opened to select members of the public for the first time. Outside the factory, Henry Swan, ten years old and incredibly excited, was holding Belle’s hand so hard, he was in danger of cutting off the circulation in her fingers. There was intense speculation murmuring around the crowd as the finder of the final golden ticket had only been run to ground that morning. Belle gave Henry a smile. Emma was sad not be coming with her son, but she had still not recovered from her flu and needed to stay in bed.

“Excited?” Belle asked.

“What do you think?” Henry’s grin was positively luminescent.

They looked up at the big gates and waited for the clock to strike.

 _Inside_ the factory, Mr Gold readjusted Jefferson’s top hat and brushed down his coat.

“How do I look?” he asked Dove.

“Like an elusive, crazy millionaire chocolatier,” Dove said helpfully. “Although you might want to sound a little more enthusiastic. You’re currently doing a good impression of someone on their way to the gallows. Just… channel the inner magician or something.”

“Mr Dove, if this goes wrong, you have my full permission to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Duly noted, Mr Gold.” The city hall clock began to chime. “Ready?”

“No. But we’d best get it over and done with.”

Dove pushed open the door, and Mr Gold stepped out to meet the finders of his golden tickets.

X

As the morning had gone on, Belle had come to some conclusions about Mr Gold.

Firstly and foremost: Mr Gold was a genius. His factory was indeed a one-man show, well, two-man, if you included the gentle giant Mr Dove, who always seemed to be on hand to escort frantic parents away to find their lost children. There were no signs of orange dwarfs, nor of aliens, but Belle was fairly certain that the man could work magic with sugar and cream. He’d designed most of the machinery that kept the factory running himself, and had patents coming out of his ears.

Secondly: Mr Gold was a showman. When they had first come into the factory, he was doing an extremely good job of convincing everyone that not only was he a genius, he was also clinically certifiable. He had the most explosive, high-pitched giggle, which had unnerved the other adults but which Belle had found strangely endearing. At times, she’d been certain that had he not been hampered by his limp, he would have been physically bouncing off the walls. But as time had gone on and more children had been lost, he seemed to have calmed down, to have sobered and quietened a little. His limp seemed heavier now, as if it was giving him more pain.

And now it was only Henry and Belle left. Belle wondered if they were going to meet any of the other children and their parents again, but somehow she doubted it. They were probably being ushered out of the back door by Mr Dove, given a supply of chocolate and sent on their way. It was obvious that this event was engineered, but as what? A test? A strange kind of social experiment dreamed up by a madman?

They had come to a stop in front of a large, heavy oak door, and it was then that Belle came to a final conclusion, one that she was almost embarrassed to admit to even herself. She was falling for this madman, from his charming eccentricity to the hint of darkness and bitterness in his eyes as he warned the children, still in that singsong voice, that all magic came with a price. (He was losing the fluting tones now, and was gradually sounding increasingly Glaswegian.)

Here was a man who was alone by both fate and choice. He had been a father himself once; it couldn’t be easy for him to be surrounded by children, a reminder of what he had lost. Perhaps that was the reason he had shut himself off from the world. He was an enigma wrapped up in a frock coat and top hat, a mystery to be uncovered. Belle shook herself crossly. She was beginning to sound like one of her novels.

“So,” Mr Gold began, turning on his heel to face Belle and Henry. “This is the final stop on the tour. How many have we got left?”

“It’s just me, Mr Gold,” Henry ventured, although Gold could quite clearly see that they were the only people in the corridor. The chocolatier broke into a smile, a genuine, warm smile, unlike the little half-sneers he had given the other parents when they had questioned him about the safety of their brats.

“Well then, I believe congratulations are in order, Master Swan.”

“Congratulations? For what?”

“Oh, you’ll find out in a minute. What’s your favourite confectionary, Henry?” Gold asked.

“Chocolate fudge,” Henry replied, licking his lips involuntarily.

“Would you like to learn how to make it?”

Henry nodded, his eyes saucer-wide. Gold grinned and pushed open the door.

“Welcome to my creating kitchen,” he said as they stepped inside. “This is where I dream up all the new chocolate flavours.”

It was the biggest kitchen that Belle had ever seen, equipped with fantastical devices that she could only dream of owning in her own little kitchen at home. Sugar thermometers everywhere, huge copper pans on gas burners…

“This is awesome!” Henry exclaimed. “We’re actually going to use all this stuff?”

Gold laughed. “Well, perhaps not all of it. But first things first.”

He put out his cane to stop Henry moving any further into the room and nodded towards the coat stand in the corner. He hung up his coat and hat and put his cane into the umbrella stand, donning an apron instead. Henry did the same. Belle just stayed off to one side, watching. This was Henry’s time.

“Cup of tea?”

Belle jumped; she hadn’t noticed Mr Dove come in with a tea-tray.

“Thank you. Erm… The other children?” she began tentatively.

“Oh, they came out all right, just as Mr Gold said they would.”

“Now this,” Gold was saying to Henry as he limped over the centre island, “is the source of all the magic.” He took a jangling chain of keys from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked a drawer, taking out a simply enormous folder. He presented it to Henry, who staggered under the weight and had to put it on the island.

“Henry, this binder contains every single recipe and every single machine I have ever created. It is my life’s work. Every other confectioner in the country would give their left hand for a glimpse inside of this book. One of them did. And now, it belongs to you.”

Henry looked down at the file, then back up at Gold.

“You must be joking,” he said faintly.

Gold shook his head.

“No, I’m not. I said congratulations were in order. My chocolate factory, and my legacy, are now yours.”

Belle dropped her tea cup in shock. Dove picked it up and set it back on the tray, and Belle bit her lip.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s chipped.”

Gold looked at her, and for the first time, Belle saw the man behind the magician; the man who loved creating chocolate just for the sake of it, to make children happy, an inventor and an artist, and an ordinary man.

“It’s just a cup,” he said, and Belle smiled, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks involuntarily.

Henry was looking at the recipe folder again.

“It’s mine?” he said, the disbelief still obvious in his voice.

“All yours. Well, I’ll help you out till you’re eighteen, obviously.” Gold shifted his weight to lean comfortably on the counter, then he furrowed his brow and pulled out a stool from under the island , bidding Henry to get up and sit on the table so that they were level.

“I don’t know whether you know, Henry, but my son died ten years ago. I have no other family of my own, and I’m not getting any younger. The golden tickets were a plan to help me find my successor. I wanted it to be a child, someone to whom I could teach all my tricks and leave in the knowledge that they would respect and build on my work, rather than try to change it or sell out, like adults are so often wont to do. You, Henry, are my successor.”

Henry’s grin was so wide that it almost split his face in two.

“Mum is going to go nuts when she finds out!” he exclaimed. “She’ll never have to work another night shift!”

Gold looked at Belle, his face both confused and, dare she think it, hopeful.

“But…”

“Belle’s not my mum,” Henry said helpfully. “Mum had to stay at home, she’s got the flu,” he added. “Belle’s just a friend, she lives upstairs.”

Belle waved a little awkwardly from her corner. Gold smiled back.

She hadn’t noticed that his eyes were the same colour as her favourite hazelnut toffee crunch until now.

“Mr Gold,” said Henry, cutting through the moment unintentionally. “Can you teach me how to make chocolate fudge now please?”

X

Gold was incredibly glad that Henry had emerged victorious from the five prospective candidates, and he was more than happy to hand over the keys to the recipe book to him. Henry reminded him of Bae at the same age, his eager innocence and simple excitement. He watched over the boy as they boiled the sugar for the fudge, but he couldn’t help stealing glances back at his lovely chaperone sitting in the corner, drinking tea and chatting to Dove.

Belle. He’d automatically assumed that she was Henry’s mother, even when he’d heard the boy call her by her first name. He’d tried very hard not to think about her, until now. She was certainly beautiful, but more attractive to him was her fearlessness. She hadn’t shied away from his anarchic magician personality like the other adults had, she hadn’t let a fear of the unknown cow her.

The sugar had to simmer for a while and Gold took the opportunity to make his way over to Belle. Progress around the kitchen was slow without his cane, but he always preferred to have both hands free when he was working in there.

“I don’t think I ever bothered to introduced myself properly to you, or any of the other adults,” he said, a touch sheepishly, because maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have spent so long labouring under a misappreciation.

Belle smiled. “That’s all right. The day was for the children, after all. We’re only here to act as chaperones.”

“Between you and me, the others didn’t do a very good job of chaperoning,” Gold muttered. “Still,” he continued brightly. “Since you are not, as I had first so wrongly assumed, Ms Swan, may I ask what to call you instead?”

“French. Isabella French. But you can call me Belle.”

“In that case, Belle, you can call me Rum.” He checked his pocket watch, it was almost time to return to the fudge. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Gold turned to return to the steaming copper pan, but Belle’s voice called him back.

“Wait, Mr Gold – Rum.”

There was something slightly nervous in her voice.

“There’s something I think you should know about Henry,” she said quietly. “May we speak privately?”

Gold tried not to let his growing trepidation show.

“Certainly. Just let me make sure that the fudge isn’t going to boil over.”

He returned to Henry and got him started on the next part of the recipe. Dove could step in if anything got out of hand, so Gold grabbed his cane and guided Belle out into the corridor. They walked a little way before Belle stopped.

“I know that you and your son had a rocky relationship,” she began.

“My fault entirely,” Gold lamented. “Go on.”

He thought he knew where this was headed, and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest. A small part of him was cynical, concocting an elaborate hoax in his mind, but Belle seemed so sweet and open, and Henry seemed so inherently good…

“I don’t know how much you spoke, but did he ever mention Emma Swan?”

Gold was glad of his cane to stop him staggering. Christ, when he’d thought that Henry reminded him of Bae… Ten years ago, and he still remembered it as clear as day. He hadn’t taken Bae’s call; they’d had another fight and he was sulking, and so the phone had gone to answer machine.

_“Dad”_

Bae’s voice had sounded so happy, so excited.

_“Dad, pick up the phone you old goat, I know you’re there. Listen, I’m sorry about everything, but if you can put it behind you then there’s someone I want you to meet. Her name’s Emma, she’s amazing and I’m going to marry her. Can we talk? I’m on my way over.”_

But his son had never made it over, and Gold was left with the racking guilt that his son had died thinking his father was still angry at him. He had never found the identity of the mysterious Emma, the love of Bae’s life. Now, it seemed, Emma had found him.

“Henry is my grandson, isn’t he?”

Belle nodded.

“I only found out myself a few weeks ago,” she said. “Listen, Emma never wanted anything from you; I’m not here begging on her behalf. But since you have given Henry the factory, I thought you should know that it isn’t going to a total stranger, and that you’ve got more family than you think.”

There was silence for a few moments, an all-encompassing silence.

“Thank you, Belle,” Gold managed eventually.

She nodded. “We should probably get back to the kitchen, check nothing’s exploded.”

“Henry seems like a sensible enough boy, and I have Dove holding the fort. But you’re right. I don’t want his first experience of chocolaterie to singe his eyebrows, it might put him off.”

Gold followed Belle back down towards the kitchen, his head still reeling. He had created this competition to find an heir, and he had instead found his family.

X

Emma was curled up on the sofa, watching the TV but not really seeing the pictures, her mind miles away with Henry inside the chocolate factory. She hoped he was enjoying himself.

Presently, she heard Henry’s voice and startled.

“Mum! Mum!” He was running up the stairs towards the flat and Emma was fairly certain that she had never heard him sound so ecstatically happy.” He burst through the front door. “Mum! You’re never going to believe what happened! We were going around the factory and the other children were bad and kept disappearing and then it was just me and Belle and then Mr Gold gave me his big recipe book and the factory’s mine now and we’re going to live there with Mr Gold and…”

“Wait, Henry, slow down. Breathe. What’s all this about the chocolate factory being yours now?” Emma was incredibly confused and convinced that she had simply misheard in the midst of Henry’s excited motormouth gabble.

“We brought Mr Gold with us to explain everything. I’ve got to go and pack!” Henry rushed off out of the flat then rushed back and threw his arms around his mother. “Everything’s going to be great, Mum, you’ll see.”

He ran out again and returned, practically dragging Mr Gold with him. Belle followed behind, looking rather apologetic. Emma had to do a double take, but no, she was seeing things correctly. Her son’s grandfather, one of the wealthiest men in the country, had just walked in, and she was sitting in a sea of Kleenex and wearing her Kermit the Frog pyjamas. Henry sped off into the other room, saying something about packing, and Emma and Mr Gold were left looking at each other. The awkwardness in the room was almost palpable, and Emma’s head was still too fuzzy from illness to try and play it cool.

“I had to tell him, Em,” belle said. “I’m so sorry, I know you told me in confidence, but after he gave Henry the factory…”

“It’s ok… I…” Emma was too stunned to be angry. Gold had given Henry the chocolate factory. And he had done this before he knew the boy was his grandson. Surely she had missed a link somewhere along the line…

“I’ll go and help Henry,” Belle said. “Leave you two to talk.”

She left the room, and Gold moved towards the sofa.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the seat beside her. Emma nodded dumbly and he sat. “Ms Swan, I believe you knew my son, Bae, although he may have been calling himself Neal Cassidy at the time. Our introduction is a few years overdue, but better late than never.” He held out his hand, scarred with sugar burns all over, and Emma shook it. “My name is Rum Gold, and I am honoured to make the acquaintance of the woman who would have been my daughter-in-law.”

X

It was to everyone’s advantage that Emma and Henry didn’t have all that many possessions, as it only took a couple of trips with Dove in a van to move the bulk of everything into the chocolate factory. Henry had been very eager to move immediately, Gold was equally enthusiastic about spending as much time with Emma and Henry as possible, and Emma hadn’t the heart to say no, especially once she had seen the inside of the factory for the first time.

Now, Belle stood on the fire escape, looking out over the town and the factory, wondering what Henry and Emma were up to, and if Henry had started inventing twenty different flavours of Turkish delight yet, just as he had promised to do for his mother.

She found her thoughts wending in the direction of the factory’s owner, or rather, its former owner. She’d already come to the conclusion that Gold was a desperately lonely man, and she was happy that he had found his family. At the same time, it didn’t stop her wanting to see him again, to find out more about him. What made him tick, what made him giggle like a madman?

There was a knock on the door, and reluctantly, Belle went inside to answer it. She was slightly taken back to find herself face to face with the object of her thoughts.

“Mr Gold,” she said, trying her best to cover her surprise and stop blushing. It didn’t work. “Did Henry and Emma forget something?”

“No, I did, actually.” He paused, and Belle could practically see the nervous energy vibrating around him. “I forgot to ask you out to dinner.”

“Oh.” Belle blinked, unwilling or unable to believe what she had just heard. “But what about Henry and Emma?”

“They’re having a whale of a time,” Gold replied. “And having been just the two of them for so long, I shouldn’t imagine that they’d miss me for one evening. That is, of course, if you would like to come. I mean, I can fully understand if you don’t, I’m not exactly conventional company and locking oneself in a factory for ten years doesn’t do much for one’s social skills, but…”

Belle put her hand over his, clasped tightly over the handle of his cane, and Gold tailed off. She suddenly knew where Henry had inherited his tendency to excitable verbosity from.

“I’d love to have dinner with you,” she said.

Gold’s smile took years off his face, and he looked every inch the confectionary magician that he was famed as.

“So it’s a date, Miss French?”

Belle nodded.

“I’ll get my coat, Mr Gold.”


End file.
